found in a sugar bowl

found in a sugar bowl

Notes:

It’s never going to go away. It’s never going to get better. You may get it under control, but you will always carry this disease with you. It’s already ruined your life a thousand times and it will a thousand more. It’s yours until you die. And you will die early, whether from suicide or medications or some other disease-related issue. It will be both your life and your death.

You will never truly be free. You will either submit to the disease and be alone and lost or you will live always on the edges, around those you love but not opening to them for fear of hurting them. Always the lies. You’re not allowed to be yourself because it breaks people. You are a monster.

There will always be the secrets in your ears, the shadows in your eyes, and the people in the walls because they want you. They will never let you go, though so many real people do. They will reach for you with their daggerish hands and make you believe all their lies. There will be paranoia, anxiety, aggression.

And everything will be so loud, so loud, so fast that you can’t keep up. And so quiet you’ll wonder if you’re deaf. And so crowded you can’t even breathe.

Is it any wonder you long for that early death? When life is a prison, what other freedom can there be? But still, everyone tells you to fight. Everyone tells you that you’re not allowed to do that. If they truly cared, they’d stop being greedy and let you end your pain.

So you push them away, one by one. You find their weakness and stab at it until they leave. (Sometimes there’s explosions in the leaving, sometimes not.) But you have to make them go. They can’t stop you if they’re not there. They can’t stop you if you won’t listen.

Life is a very thin sense of guilt. One of these days, it’ll slip.


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